


Giuoco Piano

by castieldeansangel



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mostly Gen, OOC, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Self-Indulgent, Time Travel, mostly about Beth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castieldeansangel/pseuds/castieldeansangel
Summary: Beth falls asleep on the flight back to the States.She wakes up years in the past, in a familiar orphanage.
Relationships: Beth Harmon & Alma Wheatley, Beth Harmon & Everyone, Beth Harmon & Jolene, Beth Harmon & William Shaibel, Beth Harmon/Benny Watts (hinted), Beth Harmon/Other(s), Jolene/Mike
Comments: 197
Kudos: 714
Collections: Beth and Benny (The Queen's Gambit), Time Travel AUs, bookmarks





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "From the beginning I knew my destination, and I choose my route accordingly. But am I working toward an extreme of joy, or of pain? Will I achieve a minimum, or a maximum?"  
> -The story of your life, Ted Chiang

Beth is exhausted.

In the last few days, she’s barely slept.

Most of her time has been spent either playing chess or thinking about playing chess.

Winning the final had been exhilarating, filling her with a buzz that made her feel lightheaded. Beth had felt about to vibrate out of her skin. Seized by a sudden need to whoop and run and play some more.

It had taken her back to that day many years ago when she beat a bunch of high-schoolers in an hour and 20 minutes. But it was much better. 

It didn’t just feel good. 

It felt _amazing._

Because she had made it. She had _won_ . Against the greatest, the master, _Borgov._

That’s why she hadn’t thought twice before opening the car’s door and cutting off that annoying man in the middle of his sentence.

Playing with the old men in a Russian square had helped use out her adrenaline.

They had congratulated her, asked for autographs and offered tips she had never heard before. 

One of them had even given her a run for her money and she had _laughed_. Let out the happiest, hearties laugh she could muster, feeling it reverberate deep within her chest.

After twelve games, the American agent she never learned the name of had appeared and told her it was time.

The ride to the airport had been quiet and awkward. She had barely been able to keep her eyes open.

Now, sitting on a first class seat -- courtesy of the US government who suddenly gave a fuck now that she’s a champion -- all she wants to do is sleep.

So, she does.

And the next time she opens her eyes, Beth Harmon is not on a plane seat.

She’s not even sitting.

She’s standing on her own two feet and everything around her is too tall.

In front of her isn’t the light blue silk curtain she last saw before falling asleep.

By her side isn’t the apathetic US officer who became her shadow this last week.

Instead, she’s inside a familiar building she once knew like the back of her hand.

In front of her is a black man wearing a white shirt, haloed by the light streaming through the window behind him. His hand is outstretched, offering her a white plastic cup. 

When she turns her head to the side, she finds the giant windows with translucent white curtains that give the illusion of freedom in this desolate place.

A shiver runs through her spine and she blinks.

Beth grabs the cup and the sense of deja vú is disconcerting.

Swallowing, she looks down.

One brown pill. One green pill.

“Green’s to even your disposition,” Fergusen says suddenly and she jumps, the pills rattling against the plastic, “Orange and brown is for building a strong body. Take ‘em both.”

Beth lets out a shaky breath and pushes the cup to her mouth.

She puts the empty cup on top of the others and turns around without a word.

Her eyes take in the place she grew up in with a sense of detachment. The first time around, she hadn’t noticed how cold it was. Even with the heater on, it seems completely devoid of warmth. The blue walls -- that just might as well have been gray with how lifeless they look -- echo her every step. The long tables she passes by appear to be permanently dust-laden, regardless of being constantly used.

She leaves through the door and looks around.

Sure that no one is around, Beth spits the pills into her hand and sticks them in her pocket.

This time, she doesn’t immediately walk to breakfast.

Instead, her feet lead her to the restrooms.

After checking under every stall and making sure no one’s there, she walks to the sink.

The mirror shows an image long forgotten.

An ugly bob that cuts at jaw-level, joined by an ugly fringe that falls to her forehead just low enough to be awkward. God, how she hated that hairstyle.

Her gaze flits lower and brown eyes stare back at her. They look out of place. Too knowing, too old.

Beth licks her lips and inspects the body. It’s the same as she remembers. Lanky limbs covered by a uniform. The jumper is the same color as the walls, she notes. She had never paid much attention to that -- what, with being too shocked about her mother’s suicide and then constantly high. Maybe it was their attempt to make the kids blend with the place. Become one more piece of furniture. Beth sure as hell felt closer to a chair than a person more than once during her childhood.

She lets out a sigh and looks into the eyes on the mirror again.

_Slap!_

“Ouch!” Even her voice is more high-pitched. 

Beth frowns and looks at the red mark on her cheek. It _hurt_. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. It was supposed to wake her up.

_Why is she still here?_

“Beth.” Someone says from behind her and she turns.

A gasp escapes from her lips. Jolene looks _so_ young.

She’s wearing the braids Beth used to love and wished she could imitate before finding fashion magazines and learning what was considered _chic_.

Jolene looks taller than Beth remembers, yet not as imposing. Perhaps, after watching the unfaltering stance and sure gazes of people like Borgov, not much can scare her anymore.

Beth recalls the last time they saw each other, right before she boarded the plane Jolene paid the ticket for. The crushing hug and the _“go beat their white asses”._ Her face softens and she crosses the space between them, soles squeaking on the bathroom tiles.

“Beth, what the-” Jolene starts with wide eyes but Beth cuts her off by looping her arms around her and squeezing tightly.

“Thank you.” She whispers.

Jolene awkwardly returns the hug, patting her back softly.

“Uh, what for?”

_Everything,_ she can’t say. Not to this Jolene. This girl has just met her. And, sure, she took her under her wing, but that doesn’t mean they’re friends -- not yet.

Beth takes a step back and takes the pills from her pocket.

Jolene looks down at her hand curiously and a understandment settles on her face.

“Ah, you didn’t take them. Good girl.” She says with a grin.

Beth smiles back and then turns around to throw the pills into the sink.

“Wait, what the hell are you doing?” Jolene rushes forward, watching the empty ceramic bowl.

Beth shrugs, “I don’t want to take them.”

“But they feel nice.”

Beth shakes her head, “They’re drugs.”

“Well, _yeah_. That’s kind of the point.” Jolene says slowly.

Beth shakes her head again, “I don’t want them.” She states firmly.

Jolene studies her face. After a few beats, she nods once.

“All right, then. Let’s go to breakfast before they eat all the food.”

  
  


\---

That night, Beth lies wide awake, looking at the ceiling. 

She doesn’t want to think about why she’s back. About whether this is a dream she will wake up from once the agent shakes her shoulder and tells her they've landed. About everything and everyone she left behind if it isn't.

Rather than dwelling on questions she can’t answer, she focuses on the only thing that feels safe: chess.

She replays her game with Borgov.

Once, twice, three times. 

The giant chess pieces move above her, as she searches for any mistakes on her part. When twelve o’clock strikes and her eyes close against her will, she still hasn’t found one.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Beth wakes up and she’s still in the orphanage.

She looks around, at the girls going about starting their day and her face feels damp. This can’t be real. There’s no reason for her to be  _ back _ . Unless… unless everything else didn’t actually happen? But, no. It’s not possible. Her mind couldn’t just have made everything up. Right?

She sniffles. Beth doesn’t know if want to be here. A part of her wants to be back in New York, celebrating with Benny, Townes, the twins. She has achieved so much, gone through too much bullshit and finally managed to get her shit together. It feels like she lost all her progress, game over, start again. All the pieces have gone back to their places and her almost checkmate meant  _ nothing _ .

Another part of her, the one that has lost too much, sees this as a chance. A gift. To regain it all. She could relive those times with Jolene and actually be present enough to remember them later, see Mr. Shaibel again. Oh, she could see  _ Alma  _ again. Maybe even save her.

Mrs. Deardorff’s voice comes from the door and startles her.

“You’re going to be late for breakfast.”

Beth licks her lips and notices that she’s the only one still in bed.

“I’ll be right there,” She says faintly and Mrs. Deardorff eyes her suspiciously before walking out the door again.

She stands up, limbs heavy, and decides to go about her day as usual.

Jolene shoots her odd looks all throughout the morning and Beth does her best to ignore them.

The days are even duller than she remembers. Though it might be related to the lack of drugs. Most of her time here is hazy in her mind due to being high almost every day. There are many faces and names she doesn’t remember. The majority of the other girls don’t pay attention to her, so she doesn’t try to get closer to them this time around either.

Choir class comes and she asks if she can go to the restroom. The teacher nods and she walks to the stairs instead.

She looks at the door handle longingly and closes her eyes for a second. Squaring her shoulders, she opens the door.

Beth walks with sure steps that resonate throughout the cluttered room. 

Everything is the same as she remembers. The familiar smell of detergent and humidity, the dimness and shadows painted by the boxes and cleaning products scattered around. Even he is the same as she recalls. Head bent and eyes focused on the chessboard in front of him.

She looks to the side, half-expecting to find the cropped newspaper articles pinned to the wall, but finds it empty. Right, that still hasn’t happened.

Mr. Shaibel looks up and stares at her. She stares back and her eyes burn. Guilt clogs her throat, because she allowed him to die without ever saying thank you. She knows now that he was just as lonely as her. He felt just as misunderstood. And when this nice man recognized how similar they were, he offered her an outlet. Then, when he saw her talent, he did what no other adult had done before: he believed in her. She owed Mr. Shaibel everything and all she had done to pay him back was move forward without looking back.

Beth heaves a sigh and walks forward, her gaze flickering down to the board.

“Bishop to E5.” She says.

Her tone is flat, rough asphalt, not at all appropriate for a girl her age. She shifts uncomfortably when seconds pass and Mr. Shaibel doesn’t move.

After a few more beats, he follows her eyes to the board and sucks in a breath, “How?”

“An old friend taught me how to play,” She says, a smile in her voice.

Mr. Shaibel moves the bishop and gestures at the chair leaning against the dirty concrete wall.

“Sit.”

She wins four games before Mr. Shaibel catches her hand in his. 

They lock eyes.

“That’s the Queen’s Gambit.” 

“Yes.”

“Which others do you know?”

“All of them.”

He squints and searches her face. She doesn’t squirm.

There’s a muffled ringing from upstairs and Mr. Shaibel retracts his hand.

“You should go.” He says, already picking up the pieces.

She leaves without another word.

\-- 

They play every day after that.

Beth wins all their games and Mr. Shaibel looks at her with a glint in his eyes she recognizes as pride.

When she’s not down there playing chess, she pays attention to class. There’s no need to read every single book on chess plays anymore. She’s already read them all, most until the letters faded and the B’s could hardly be told apart from the R’s. 

Beth learns a lot of new things. It turns out math and history aren’t that boring after all.

The green pills go down the toilet every single day and Beth doesn’t hesitate even once. She’s pretty proud of herself.

Every night, Beth tries to remember the occurrences in what she assumed was her first time around in life. Compares them to the now. It all fits. The movies they show, the kids that arrive and are taken by new families. It’s all there.

Some things are different, of course. She’s making sure that they won’t ever find her stealing pills during a withdrawal, for one.  _ Good riddance _ , Beth thinks.

\--

“You wanna learn how to play chess?” She asks Jolene one morning over a cigarette.

Beth remembers the talk about jealousy, about her having  _ something _ , and the other girl resenting her for it. She’s wondered before why she never tried to share it with her. They are sisters. Jolene taught her -- will teach her? -- how to play  squash . Playing together felt nice in that other life. Why not play chess now?

Jolene takes another drag, “You wanna teach me?”

“I do.”

Jolene lets out the smoke through her nose, “All right.”

Turns out that Jolene isn’t very good at chess. But they laugh a lot during their speed chess games and the tickling fights that follow whenever Jolene calls her a cheat.

\--

Months later, a familiar man with a tie is standing in front of Mr. Shaibel when she comes down to play. 

“This is Mr. Ganz from the chess club,” Mr. Shaibel says.

She gives a secret smile and parrots her own words, “Chess club?”

Beth beats him again every time, playing mercilessly, with unnecessary cruelty. She’s been missing the edge a good win brings.

The man invites her to play in their highschool and she readily agrees. The doll goes to the trash again.

Beth goes to Duncan High, stands in the middle of a circle, plays and wins -- all while sober.

When she comes back, she shares her chocolates with Mr. Shaibel and invites Jolene down to the basement. They sit around the small table and Beth laughs when she tells them all about the students’ terrible attempts to fight back. In her previous life she learned how much better it was to celebrate with friends. As she sees Mr. Shaibel and Jolene giggle when she tells them about that boy who almost cried because a little girl beat him, Beth thinks that coming back was a gift.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much when she goes to bed that night.

\--

More months pass, then years. She keeps playing and gets her picture on the cover of a highschool newspaper more than once.

One morning, she catches sight of a familiar Dusty Rose '57 chevy through the window and her heart almost stops. She knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I wonder who they’re here for,” She faintly hears Jolene says, though everything is muffled, cotton.

Alma looks as beautiful as she remembers. With her carefully picked outfit and useless husband by her side. Alma’s eyes focus on her again and, just like that first time, Beth returns her stare.

“Why are you crying?” Jolene asks beside her.

Beth brings a hand to her cheek and finds dampness.

She sniffs and cleans her face with a hand. “It’s allergies.”

“Girl, you don’t have allergies.”

A laugh bubbles out of Beth’s throat and she shakes her head. Jolene just raises an eyebrow.

They tell Beth to fo to Mrs. Deardorff’s office. She takes a quick shower, is reprimanded for being late and given a headband.

She steps inside and it takes all of her willpower not to run to Alma and hug her and make sure that she’s real. On shaky legs, she stands by the door.

Beth only pays half-attention to the conversation about her, all the lies Mrs. Deardorff spills just to get rid of her, all her focus on Alma. At some point, Mrs. Deardorff leaves, just like that first time. 

Alma’s husband asks her if they call her Elizabeth or _Betty_ and she tries not to roll her eyes and tell him to fuck off. She still hasn’t forgiven him for leaving Alma and the whole house debacle.

They ask her meaningless questions and she answers automatically. Neither Alma nor her husband comment when her voice breaks in the middle of her sentences.

“You should go pack.” Mrs. Deardorff tells her at the front door.

She nods shakily, swallows, and nods again, more steadily.

Beth goes to her room first. She grabs the book she hid better this time, and walks to Jolene’s bed.

Jolene raises an eyebrow, “What?”

Beth nudges her hand with the edge of the book, “Take it.”

“Why?”

“It’s for you, so you don’t forget me.”

Jolene snorts and reaches for the book, “As if I could forget your annoying ass.”

Her words sound harsh but Beth sees how carefully she holds the book to her chest and smiles.

“I will try to come visit.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Jolene says, eyes wide.

“You won’t get rid of me so easily,” Beth teases with a light smile and Jolene bites her lip.

“All right, then. Guess I’ll see you later.”

She packs her scant things in a small backpack and walks down the stairs.

“I’m leaving, someone adopted me.” She says without preamble and sees Mr. Shaibel’s face fall.

“Okay.”

“I’m thinking of participating in chess tournaments.”

“Okay.”

“I would like you to come watch.”

Mr. Shaibel’s eyes widen, an incredulous look on his face, and Beth thinks  _ Yes, this. This is what I should have done the first time. _

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend.” She says. Simple. The truth. A life too late, perhaps. But the truth, nonetheless.

Mr. Shaibel’s taken aback again. A few seconds later, he smiles. It’s a small, almost not-there thing and Beth smiles back.


	3. Chapter 3

“Off we go!” Alma says again.

Beth waves at Mr. Shaibel and Jolene through the window.

\--

“Home sweet home!”

Beth studies the place she’s called home for the longest time. Seeing it like this is so bizarre, especially after all the modifications she had made in her previous life. Everything in the house screams Alma and Beth watches everything with a faint smile, every little thing bringing memories of a life that hasn’t been.

“Rosa Bonheur.” She says in front of the picture of sheep sitting on the grass. She had taken that off, put it in a box, forgotten about it. Beth had never expected to miss that damn print.

“You know her?” Alma sounds impressed.

Beth turns to look at her and Alma’s bright smile, always so toothy, makes her throat close, threatening to choke her. Unable to speak she just nods and returns her attention to the picture, lest Alma sees her crying.

Mr. Wheatley catches her eyes from above his newspaper and he raises an eyebrow. She pretends not to notice and studies the sheep.

Going up the stairs, Beth has the oddest sense of déjà vu, but that’s nothing compared to the absolute wreck that being in her old room leaves inside her mind. It’s all spacious, decorated with clashing pinks and Beth can’t help but snort a bit.

Alma looks at her curiously and Beth walks over to her slowly. She sets her suitcase on the floor, then loops her arm around a startled Alma. After a moment of hesitation, Alma returns the hug.

“Thank you,” Beth says, voice hoarse, “For everything.” 

“You’re welcome,” Alma answers softly, haltingly caressing her hair with a gentle hand.

She enjoys the warmth of the hug for two more beats, then clears her throat and steps back.

There’s a faint blush coloring Alma’s cheeks and she walks backwards to the door.

“I will let you unpack and get settled.” She says and reaches for the door handle, “Just give a holler if you need anything.”

\--

She watches from the window as Mr. Wheatley puts his suitcase in the car and says he’ll be back in two weeks.

Alma tells her the story about her child and Beth listens again. This time around, she doesn’t know what to say either. She’s sure she could relive this moment a thousand times over and she still wouldn’t find the right words. She’s not even sure they exist. So, instead of saying something or simply standing there silently, Beth walks closer and offers her a hug. Alma doesn’t ask why and just squeezes her as tightly as she does.

School is terrible in every life, Beth guesses. She doesn’t try to make friends, none of the kids there interest her enough to make the attempt. Mostly everyone she cares about is yet to enter her life or are miles away, in an orphanage.

Then, Mr. Wheatley is back for a day.

“I’ll take a beer… If there’s any left,” The man says and Beth has the sudden urge to beat the asshole. She soothes herself with the knowledge that in the very near future, he will be in a lot of trouble.

The next day, Beth and Alma go shopping. She doesn’t care much about her clothes. Teenager’s opinions and mockery aren’t among her concerns. One of the dresses does itch a little though. She eyes the chess boards with longing, then redirects her gaze at Alma. Chess will have to wait for now.

\--

It’s been weeks since Mr. Wheatley left and Beth still doesn’t know what to do about Alma. 

It’s so frustrating to not be able to reach her. In what she calls her previous life, they had grown to be close. So much that she actually considered her a mother. They would share everything, she was her confidant, her crutch when she felt lost. For the longest time, Beth considered her the only person who cared about her, before she found out that there were other people watching from the sidelines.

Now, she feels like a stranger. 

No matter what she tries, Alma is impossible to reach, always closed off, always in a pill-induced daze. The longing she used to experience whenever she caught sight of those flasks with green pills has been replaced by absolute hatred. Beth wishes she could just flush them down the toilet every time she’s sent to buy more. But that’s not an option, at least at the moment. Alma still sees her as a burden rather than a daughter, she can’t risk being sent away to the orphanage. She can’t help Alma if she leaves.

It’s another trip to the pharmacy and she sees the chess magazine on the rack. She walks closer and reaches to take it, but another magazine by the right draws her attention. 

_Classical music competition. The winner takes home $150. Entrance fee $5._

Beth recalls her last life. How, even though chess didn’t _save_ her, having something to work for and focus on helped. Something to fight for. Having the need to be sharp enough to achieve what she wanted. A drive. And most importantly, the way having someone who believed in her made all the difference.

She hesitates, hand hovering on top of the chess magazine, eyes darting between her right and what’s in front of her. Biting her lip, she turns around and sees the owner busy with another client. 

She hastily hides the magazine under her sweater and walks out the door.

\---

“What is this?”

“A classical music competition. The winner gets one hundred and fifty dollars.”

Alma reads the ad with interest, the light in her eyes is the first sign of life she’s given since Mr. Wheatley left for the last time. Beth hopes for a moment. She sees the exact moment Alma starts doubting herself. Her hands shake when Alma hands her back the magazine and she takes it.

“We don’t have money to waste on that.” Alma says, and turns back to the cabinets in the kitchen.

She purses her lips and holds the magazine to her chest.

Later that day, Beth writes a letter.

\--

The chess tournament in which Beth was supposed to meet Townes, Harry, Matt and Mike started yesterday. She stays home and holds Alma’s hand when the call comes and she learns that Mr. Wheatley has been _indefinitely detained in the Southwest._ She sits on the couch, listening to her play and watching her down beer can after beer can.

Beth already knows how to put on a pad. She asks Alma for help either way.

\--

Alma is worrying about money again. Beth knows they are hardly going by; this is around the time Alma started considering sending her back to the orphanage. The last time, the money from the chess tournament made her change her mind. There is no prize money this time and Beth hopes her plan works.

“The competition is tomorrow.” She says and Alma lifts her head from where she was counting pennies.

“What competition?”

She takes the magazine she held behind her back and places it on the table, the ad about the competition facing Alma. She stares at it blankly, then scowls.

“I told you we don’t have money to spare.”

Beth places a five dollar bill on top of the magazine. Alma eyes it suspiciously.

“Where did you get that?”

“A friend sent it to me.” She says.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to compete.” 

Alma shakes her head, desperation clear in her eyes.

“But why?”

“Because I know you can win.” She says with vehemence. “I’ve heard you play. You’re not only good, you are amazing. Your music is the type of music that makes everyone turn around and leave whatever they are doing just to listen. Hearing it from afar is not enough because it’s too good not to enjoy completely. If you play like that in front of others, they will see that and you’ll win. I just know it.”

By the time she finishes talking, Beth is breathing harshly and tears threaten to fall from her eyes. She wishes she could have told this to Alma before, because it’s the truth. So much potential, so much love wasted.

Alma looks away and Beth’s heart falls.

“I have stage fright.” She whispers.

Beth tugs at the fabric of her dress and presses her eyelids close together to stop herself from crying. She feels a hand touch hers and blinks her eyes open, some stray tears falling down her cheeks.

Alma stares into her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “If I make a fool of myself, I’m blaming you.”

Beth’s eyes crinkle as a choked laugh falls from her mouth.

“Fair enough.”

\--

Alma hesitates for exactly twelve seconds before painfully squeezing Beth’s hand once. She lets her hand go and gives her a tight smile before lifting her head. She walks straight to the piano and sits.

Dressed in a beautiful indigo dress, with a pearl necklace that shines with the reflector’s lights, topped by a dashing smile, Alma plays Satie’s _Sarabande No_ . _2_. It’s flawless, touching and slightly grotesque. Beth sees three people in the crowd crying. She can’t even mock them because her own face is damp with the tears that don’t stop falling for the three minutes the song lasts.

Beth runs into her arms when she’s done, accidentally crushing the flowers she got her.

When the winner is announced, Alma freezes by her side and a whooping Beth has to practically push her to the scenario. Breaking out of her daze, Alma grabs hold of her hand and tugs her to the front with her. Beth follows and grins widely as they both receive the trophy and the check.

\--

“You should try those AA groups.” Beth tells her as soon as they get home.

It’s almost morning. After the competition Alma decided to go celebrate. They went to a restaurant where she asked for one too many Gibsons. Beth had watched her take the cocktails as if they were water and decided it was time to do something.

Alma’s smile banishes from her face and is replaced with a frown, the glaze in her eyes turns into something more guarded.

“Why do you care so much?” She slurs.

“Because I don’t want there to come a moment when you lose everything you’ve ever worked for just for the sake of one more drink.”

Alma looks at her like it’s the first time she’s ever seen her but Beth holds her ground. She is probably wondering what does a fifteen year old girl know about addictions and lost chances. If only she knew.

They are in a stalemate. Bare-feet and staring at each other in the middle of a barely lit living room. Finally, after what feels like centuries but was probably only about two minutes, Alma breaks eye contact and bends to pick up her shoes.

“I’ll look for the number in the yellow pages and call them in the morning.”

“I already jotted three numbers down, they’re in my notebook.” Beth says.

Alma gazes up at her. She studies her for a few more beats before nodding once and straightening up. 

“Thank you. I’ll call them later,” She mumbles before leaving in the direction of her room.

Beth follows her with her eyes as she walks up the stairs and once her mother is out of sight, she grins and falls into the couch, stifling an excited scream against a pillow.

\--

Beth leaves the notebook on the small table by the living room couch. She doesn’t say anything and Alma doesn’t ask. Beth goes about her day, deliberately not looking at Alma as she not too subtly glances at the notebook.

She’s eating a sandwich when Alma stands up from her seat and walks to the living room. 

She keeps her eyes on the window as Alma reaches the phone and dials a number.

\--

Withdrawal isn’t pretty. Beth knows this better than anyone. She uses this knowledge to stand by Alma’s side every step of the way and offer her the help she herself didn’t have at the beginning.

She holds her hand in the long nights when all she wants to do is have another drink, take another pill.

Beth hugs Alma on the floor of the bathroom when she throws up almost two entire bottles of vodka after one particularly bad week.

They go together to sessions once a week at the centre Alma attends, other nights Alma goes by herself and talks either to a group of other people or a counselor. 

She waits outside her door whenever Alma locks herself in her room to avoid going to the meetings. Beth’s there to wipe away vomit and tears whenever it’s necessary.

Recovery isn’t easy but Beth makes sure that Alma never feels that she has to walk this path alone.

\--

“You mentioned a chess tournament.” Alma says one afternoon, almost a year after the music competition, she hasn’t touched pills in almost four months. Alcohol in three. Things are slowly getting better.

Beth looks up from her book and cocks her head to the side. She hadn’t expected Alma to bring it up -- she had just mentioned it almost as an afterthought in one of the AA group meetings. Even she hadn’t given it much thought, too focused on doing well at school and helping Alma overcome her addiction. She’s also been trying to help Alma with her new job; a few months ago she found an ad in the paper about a family searching for a piano teacher for their daughters. After much coaxing both from Beth and the counselor at the AA centre, Alma had finally agreed. 

Now she is teaching six kids, three times a week, and they finally have enough money to buy Beth decent clothes, and even some extra money for Beth to send Jolene and Mr. Shaibel dumb postcards and constantly apologize for not visiting yet.

Alma’s also participated in two other competitions and won each of them. Two weeks ago, she accepted her first gig at a restaurant-bar. Beth watched her from the restaurant section, clapping the loudest and watching with a smile as Alma refused every drink that wasn’t water.

So, yeah. There hasn’t been much room to think about chess.

Beth licks her lips before answering, “Yes, what about it?”

“When is it?”

“It was months ago.” She says, carefully placing her bookmark on the page she left off to give her whole attention to Alma.

“Will there be others?”

“Yes.”

“How much is the entrance?” 

Beth narrows her eyes and answers slowly, “Five dollars.”

“Do you still want to go to one?”

Beth’s hands twitch and she places them palms down on her lap. She nods slightly.

“Then we’ll go.” Alma states.

The girl whips her head up, searches Alma’s face with wide eyes. Looks for deceit, finds none. Just a gentle smile and she grins.

“Thank you!” Beth yells before throwing herself into Alma and hugging her tightly.

Alma chuckles into her hair.

“But you better win.” She says, her voice light, clearly teasing.

Beth leans away slightly and grabs her by the shoulder, watching with all the seriousness she can muster.

“I will.” 

\--

This time, she doesn’t forget about those who first believed in her and Beth sends an invitation.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: As you can see, the timeline has shifted and that means /changes/, so it will start to diverge from canon even more. Beth still cares about chess but she wanted to help Alma and she was willing to make sacrifices for that.
> 
> Thanks for reading:)


	4. Chapter 4

“You better fucking win. I didn’t do all those extra chores just to see you lose in the first round,” Is the first thing Jolene says as she steps outside the big doors of the orphanage.

Beth smiles and steps forward to pull her into a hug.

“I missed you too,” She says.

They step back and Jolene has suspiciously bright eyes and tears feel just below the surface of her own eyes. She turns around and finds Alma coming out of the orphanage as well, discussing the last details with Mrs. Baldwin, Mrs. Deardorff’s second hand.

The two women nod at each other and Alma finally turns her attention back to the girls. Beth steps forward to introduce them officially.

“This is Jolene,” She says, gesturing to the girl beside her with a hand, “My sister.”

Jolene whips her head around so fast Beth is surprised nothing cracks. She stares at Beth wide-eyed and this one pretends not to notice.

Alma raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, “Nice to meet you, Jolene.”

Beth looks to Mr. Shaibel, who is silently standing a little bit to the right with his hands behind his back, looking quite out of place. It is odd to see him illuminated by actual sunlight rather than an old lightbulb dirtied with grime and age.

“And this is Mr. Shaibel,” Beth says around the bright grin on her face that she can’t wipe because she _can’t believe this is really happening, she can actually say those words and introduce them because they are both_ alive _,_ “He was my first chess partner. Taught me a lot.”

“Hello,” Mr Shaibel says with an awkward wave of his hand and that makes Beth’s smile widen impossibly.

“Well, we’ve done all arrangements and signed off all necessary documents,” Mrs. Baldwin says, then points a finger at Jolene, “Behave. Or all future outings are completely out of the question.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jolene nods gravely until Mrs. Baldwin turns around to leave.

Beth and Jolene share excited grins before holding each other by the arm and walking to Alma’s car. 

Alma and Mr. Shaibel smile faintly and join the girls at a much more calmed pace.

\--

The trip is mainly filled with Beth, Alma and Jolene gossiping about this and that. 

Alma talks about her music competitions and grins widely and proudly when she talks about her wins. Jolene knows jack shit about classical music, but she nods along and asks questions.

Beth also asks Jolene how she’s been holding up. Jolene shrugs and says she’s been thinking about going to college.

“What about working toward law school?” She proposes and Jolene stares at her like she just grew two heads.

“What the hell would I do in law school?” Jolene asks with a laugh.

Beth just looks at her, “You’re already pretty pissed off about the state of the world. Why not use that to help people?” She shrugs, “End injustice? That sort of thing. I can’t think of a better person to do it.”

Jolene's smile fades and stares at her like she’s never seen her before. Beth can feel other eyes on her, thinks that maybe Mr. Shaibel or Alma are also staring from the rearview mirror but her stance doesn’t waver.

Shaking her head, Jolene snorts softly and looks down at her hands, “Even if I wanted to, I ain’t got no money to go to law school. I’d be lucky to even get a scholarship for some bullshit degree.”

“You could start with an undergrad,” Beth says with fervor, “Get something to find a job. Start saving. I could help, double each dollar you save as soon as I start making money myself.”

“Why would you do that?” Jolene asks, frowning.

Beth sighs. Looks at the blurry trees outside the window. It’s not like she can tell Jolene that a future found her true calling in law school after much searching for what to do with her life. Nor that she gave up on all her savings just to help her go to Russia and fulfill her own dream.

Taking a deep breath, she turns to lock eyes with Jolene, “Because we are family. And it’s what family does,” She smiles, “It doesn’t have to be law school. Whatever it is that you want to do in the future. I’ll be here and I’ll help.”

“You’re so fucking cheesy, oh my god.” Jolene says and Beth laughs, punches her softly with her fist, “But I’ll think about it, ‘kay?”

“All right.”

\--

They arrive at Melbourne High. It’s not the same venue she first played at, but it feels the same. All high schools have the same smelly classrooms and dim hallways that look quite scary when no students are around.

The place isn’t the only thing that has changed.

For instance, Townes doesn’t seem to be there this time around. Nor is the girl she defeated in her first tournament, the one who found her again later to thank her at one of her lowest moments.

Though, somehow, the twins _are_ there.

“Put me in the open,” She says again, despite the many refusals and warnings from Mat and Mike. The twins share looks just like the last time.

“Look, boys,” Jolene says beside her, crosses her arms on her chest and Beth bites her lip to resist a smirk, “You got no idea who you’re talking to here, this _girl_ could kick both your asses at the same time and with her eyes closed. She ain’t here to ask for your opinion on whether or not she’s good enough. She’s here to win. So, just give her the motherfucking spot.”

Matt huffs out a laugh and takes a piece of paper from the stack. Mike just stares at Jolene like she just single-handedly painted the stars out in the sky and Beth lifts an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” She says with a smile and a tilt of her head as she takes the paper.

Jolene gives them a nod and turns around to check the board where the names of the winners will be placed.

“I mean it, you gotta win,” She mutters when Beth settles beside her, “And not make me look like a fucking idiot in front of those guys.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll win.” She mumbles back, adds with a light smirk, “They’re cute, aren’t they?”

Jolene stares daggers at her, though the skin of her cheeks turns darker and Beth cackles.

“Shut up!”

\--

And what do you know? _She does win them all._

She’s first placed against one of the other two girls in the match, Laura Montgomery, the piece of paper says. She is young, around Beth’s age, and surprisingly good. Jolene, Alma and Mr. Shaibel sit nearby, sharing instant coffee and cookies in silence. Beth plays a simple game, nothing too fancy or flashy. Allows the match to be slightly long, to see what the girl can do.

“You did very well,” She says after the girl resigns.

“You completely destroyed me,” Laura answers with a self-deprecating smile.

Beth understands the feeling very well. Being in a place people keep telling you you don’t belong in. Then losing and wondering if maybe they were right all along.

She bites her lip and settles the pieces back on their places. The girl watches her hands with a crease of her brow.

“Look,” Beth says, repeating the moves of the game, the girl’s opening and her response and goes on until Laura’s first mistake, “See that?”

Laura straightens herself on her seat, steepling her hands together and inspecting the board closely. The girl knits her brow and lets out a light scoff.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” She mutters, “I literally opened myself to you.”

Beth nods, eyes on the board as well.

“You did very well,” She repeats, “You just need more practice. Study your opponents, study the great and, most importantly, study yourself. People don’t become grandmasters in one day.”

The girl looks up, “I don’t want to be a grandmaster, I just want to play chess.”

Beth blinks, taken aback by that statement. Right, sometimes she forgets that not everyone plays to be the best. Not everyone shares her dream. 

She ducks her head.

“That’s fine too. You don’t have to be the best. But you can always get better,” She grins, “And, winning is fun, isn’t it?”

Laura nods.

“Yeah, it’s fun.”

Jolene joins her to return the paper with the wins and losses for each match. Then, they go and gossip together or with the twins. The boys warm up to them quite quickly. It might be because Beth actually tries to talk to them this time. Or because Mike just can’t seem to take his eyes off Jolene. Either way, they talk about chess, Beth’s games and school. 

In between matches, Beth catches sight of Alma trying to make conversation with Mr. Shaibel. It’s not going too well and it’s kind of hilarious to see Mr. Shaibel’s awkwardness increased by the second.

She also steals a few glimpses at Harry.

For some reason, he’s there. Beth hadn’t expected him to still come to these, what with being winnin again last year, since she didn’t compete. Apparently, his journey to becoming a grandmaster hasn’t been going too well.

She observes one of his games from the sidelines. Remembers the pain she caused him, all the confusion. A part of her thinks that maybe she was just holding him back. With the infatuation she tried and tried to reciprocate but never could. With chess, which he never truly wanted the way he wanted _her._

_Perhaps it’s better if I’m not in your life_ , she thinks before turning around and joining Jolene.

Much too soon, it’s time to go home for the night. They drive quietly to the house.

Jolene whistles as she looks all around the house.

“Damn, girl! You ain’t no orphan anymore,” She says, letting herself fall on her bed after they all had dinner together around the kitchen isle.

Beth leaves Jolene’s bag on a chair and falls next to her on the bed.

“Yeah, I guess.”

\--

“She’s good.” Alma whispers to Mr. Shaibel.

The room is too quiet and Alma has never been too good at being inconspicuous, so Beth hears it clearly. The shadow of a smile appears on her lips and Harry narrows his eyes at her. 

“She’s the best.” Mr. Shaibel says proudly, like he’s the man who taught her everything. He doesn’t know that he is and that thought tips her over the edge like a domino piece. She lets out a breathy chuckle that has everyone looking at her like she’s lost her mind.

Right now, Harry is still the kid who arrived late to their match with a coffee in one hand and an amused smirk on his face. It’s not a surprise that he squints suspiciously, thinks maybe this is a way for her to distract him. He moves a piece, changing completely his initial strategy. To confuse her, Beth guesses. It doesn’t work, obviously.

He looks at her in wonder when it’s clear who the winner is.

“Holy shit,” He breathes and smiles, knocking his king down.

“It was a good game,” She says sincerely.

“Yeah, it was,” He admits and extends his hand for her to shake. 

She takes it with a smile, enjoys the touch, since this might be the first and last time she will be this close to him in this life.

After she collects her check, they go to celebrate at a diner.

Beth doesn’t mind spending some of her recently earned money on waffles and milkshakes for everyone.

She knows there’ll be more.

\--

From then on, Beth competes a lot more. And so does Alma.

It’s a compromise between the two of them. In the first life, it was enough of a hassle to juggle between school and chess tournaments. Now, they must add Alma’s piano lessons, gigs at bars and her own musical competitions.

There are also the doctors appointments. After quite a lot of coaxing, Alma agreed to go get a full check-up. She was scared of what they might find. Beth doesn’t blame her. She’s spent innumerable nights awake, picturing her mother dying alone in her sleep in a cigarette-smelling hotel in Mexico. Doesn’t know what she would do if she found that whatever killed her last time, will do it again.

Steatohepatitis, is what they find. They say they are lucky there was no cirrhosis or something worse yet. A healthy lifestyle, with exercise and free of alcohol should do. Eat your veggies and fruit, do some sit ups here and there, stop drinking alcohol like it’s water and puffing cigarette smoke like a train, and you’re ready to go. Beth almost cries when she hears the doctor say that’s it, see you next time to check your blood pressure, it’s slightly low, wanna see what that’s about.

They leave the office and share a look and a chuckle of relief. Go get some ice cream to celebrate.

Beth goes to less tournaments than before, but she is way better than last time and it shows. She gets invited _everywhere._ She moves faster in a single year than she did in two in her previous life.

Every single newspaper and magazine that cares about chess or women or simply the extraordinary is writing about the young girl who can beat people twice her age in less than ten minutes, pulling moves seen in only the best.

Soon after, the tournaments accumulate, compromise isn’t enough, and sacrifices must be made.

“I don’t want you to do this,” Beth states firmly, eyes ablaze, back straight.

“It’s my decision to make, are you forgetting who is the mother here?”

That makes Beth falter. It always does. To hear Alma refer to herself as her mother always makes her want to smile and scream. She shakes herself and continues in the same tone.

“It’s not only your decision if you’re doing it for me,” She says, adds in a lower voice, “I don’t want you to give up on what you love the most for me.”

Beth has never seen Alma as happy as she does on top of a scenario, sitting in front of a piano, looking like the only thing in existence is herself and her music, like that’s the only thing she needs to breathe.

Alma’s eyes soften, “Beth, I’m not giving up on anything. I’m just cutting my lessons and my piano gigs, I’m not going to stop playing. Ever. But I don’t need to compete or have a hundred people watching me to do it. You’ve already helped me see that I _can_ do it and that’s more than enough.”

Beth feels tears just at the rim of her eyes and she looks away. This is so unfair. She already had to give up on her dream for Mr. Wheatley. Beth doesn’t want to be one more person she has to make sacrifices for. She doesn’t want to be the reason she goes back to drinking or doing drugs to feel numb, to be-

“Beth.”

Alma’s voice pulls her out of her spiraling thoughts, she turns to her and finds that her mother is also crying.

“I don’t know shit about chess,” She says with a teary smile, “But I can tell that you are truly gifted. Everyone can see that. And you are _so_ young, have so many chances in front of you. I want you to take them _all._ Because piano isn’t what I love the most. _You_ are what I love the most. And seeing you happy, is what will make me happy.”

Unable to speak, Beth closes the gap between them and hugs Alma.

_Thank you I love you I’m sorry_

\--

The same woman from before schedules an interview and Beth sends yet another letter.

“You’re an orphan, Beth,” The interviewer says again and, once more, Beth thinks _was that really the only opening for the question you could find._

“I wondered how you learned how to play,” The woman continues, the cigarette hanging loosely from between her fingers.

Beth smiles and says, “I was taught, of course,” She looks to her right, where Mr. Shaibel has been silently standing since the beginning of the interview, “By that man, in fact.”

She speaks louder to the recording machine, “Mr. William Shaibel, _S-h-a-i-b-e-l._ He is a janitor at Methuen Home. He taught me all about the beauty in chess when I felt trapped and alone. Please, don’t skip that part,” And to Mr. Shaibel, “Would you take a picture with me, please?”

Mr. Shaibel looks utterly lost and nervously eyes the interviewer.

“Yes, that would be perfect, please, sit beside her, no, no, closer, closer. Now, smile at the camera. Wider, wider, Mr. Shaibel, this isn’t a funeral.”

The shutter goes off.

“Excellent,” The woman smiles and takes another puff, “I think we’ve got all we needed, thank you.”

\--

Townes and Benny are in Las Vegas.

She’s approached by the first one, doesn’t have the guts to even get closer to the last one.

Well, she’s not exactly approached by Townes, rather than his lens.

“Harmon,” He says, face hidden by the camera, “I’ve read a lot about you. Mind if I take a picture?”

“Not as long as you tell me your name,” She says, placing her chin on her palm, resting her elbow on the table, smiling to the camera. 

Beth is highly aware of the fact that her heart doesn’t skip a beat when he returns the smile.

Alma laughs on the other side of the table, the _clink_ of a glass of water being set on the table reaches her ears, but Beth doesn’t move.

The shutter goes off twice, Townes takes another picture of her profile, then straightens up, letting the camera hang on his neck again.

“Townes. And you are very photogenic,” He says, then turns to Alma, “Nice to meet you both.”

“I’m Alma Wheatley, Beth’s mother. Nice to meet you, Townes,” Alma says with a bright smile and a not-too-subtle arched eyebrow in Beth's direction.

“Why don’t you have a seat, I have a feeling we’re gonna be great friends,” Beth says, ignoring the nudge her mother gives her under the table at the word _friends._

Townes quirks an eyebrow, but sits down.

“I heard you beat Beltik in your first appearance in a tournament,” He starts.

Beth and a very excited Alma start telling him all about the tournaments she’s been at. Alma takes every opportunity to proudly mention that her girl is a _state champion._

About an hour later, the twins find them and come to say hello. Alma, being Alma, asks the waiters to place another table next to theirs and set two other chairs.

They keep talking about the past tournaments and discuss some of the participants Beth will probably have to go against. They discuss openings, defenses, and places to have a nice lunch at over orange juice and toast.

At some point, while Townes is making Alma and Mat laugh with some story about Tennessee, Mike leans closer to Beth and discreetly asks.

“Hey, so… how is Jolene?”

That gets Beth rolling and ends up telling the guy everything about her starting college and working part time jobs to save for law school. She also teases him mercilessly, obviously.

“...her a call-” She stops mid sentence when she sees a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. It’s Benny. With his cowboy attire, baby face and _fuck_ that mustache. He’s entering the restaurant, being led by some waiters to a table on the back. He is surrounded by the sequitur of people, as always. Of course, who wouldn’t be behind the current US champion.

Everyone else notices her faltering and they turn around curiously. Mike hums.

“Ah, Benny Watts. I think he’s your biggest threat. Have you read about his game in Copenhagen?”

Beth reaches for her glass. Is kind of surprised her hands aren’t shaking like crazy, tries to keep her eyes on Mike and not let them drift to the right, over his shoulder, where Benny is talking to a waitress.

“The draw against Najdorf? When he was eight?” She asks after taking a sip, the twins nod, taking peaks at Benny, “I have. And I’m not afraid of him.”

The people at the table turn to look at her. The twins appear slightly amused, Townes cautiously curious and Alma extremely confident.

“I don’t suppose there’s anyone you’re afraid of,” Her mother says and the sense of déjà vu leaves Beth speechless for a couple of seconds.

She thinks of Borgov. Of being a scared little girl who thought she could beat the world, then couldn’t take her losses, and almost gave up. Of a Russian square, feeling more alive than ever, surrounded by old men who didn’t play because they loved to win, but because they loved the game. Simple as that.

“No,” She replies honestly.

\--

Beth is sitting on the floor of the twin’s room, a chessboard and a clock between her and Townes. On the right, the twins have their own board. Hands and pieces and eyes are shifting quickly, every move fleeting. Blink and it’s gone. Blink and you lose.

The air coming from the open door-size windows and the laughter makes Beth feel high.

She downs her water, imagines the burn of vodka she’s never experienced in this life, and says, “I like girls. And boys.”

Because, why not? Secrets are so unnecessary. And they are friends. Friends tell each other that stuff, right? Not only play chess, but share real life, personal facts. Like your favorite type of cheese. And that you think about kissing girls as much as you think about kissing boys.

Townes freezes, glass held midair, pawn floating above E4, mouth forming an _oh._

She also hears the twins’ pieces stop moving but doesn’t take her eyes off Townes. He blinks a couple of times, nods and drinks all his vodka in one go.

“I have a boyfriend,” He gives back.

“I like Jolene,” Mike quips in.

Beth directs a sly grin at the twin.

“And I’m never playing speed chess with any of you again,” Mat adds, before taking a big swig straight from the bottle.

Beth laughs, “Good talk.”

Townes snorts, “Yeah, good talk, I guess,” He breaks into giggles, “You’re an odd one, Harmon.”

The next day, Beth gets to the final. All her friends are sitting in the crowd, silently - or loudly - cheering. Townes takes like a million pictures of her in front of the board even though not even one piece has been moved yet. Alma asks for copies of all of them so she can send them to Jolene and Mr. Shaibel, who couldn't come but are cheering from afar.

Benny arrives and they are asked to walk to the table from each side so the photographers can take nice pictures. His smile as he walks forward can almost be called a smirk. He doesn’t even take off his hat. 

She tries not to stare. It’s futile. Beth could never not look at Benny. 

As Benny sits down, Beth can’t stop thinking about them. About how it (whatever it is they had) started and how it ended - or didn’t end. About all the unanswered questions that remained in a flight from Moscow to the United States. Her half-formed plans of going back to say- she’s not sure what she would have said.

Oh, and that line.

_I like your hair,_ what kind of pickup line is that Beth, seriously. She was so young, so inexperienced, so lost. No wonder it didn’t last. They couldn’t even say things straight.

Beth still can’t tell if it was love. Perhaps it wasn’t. Though, she really thinks it could have been. Now, there’s a chance to try again.

But first, chess.

Beth starts his clock and Benny moves his piece.

She might be only seventeen, but she’s not a child. Hasn’t been in a long time. She manages to keep everything in a little box inside her mind and focuses on the game. Love, friends, the future; they can wait for an hour or two.

Beth doesn’t make any mistakes. Not in this life. She doesn’t get cocky in the game, that’s for past Beth who couldn’t play without pushing at least two pills down her throat before a match - or at least thought she couldn’t. Her mind is as clear as the board on the ceiling. It’s so clear she doesn’t have to look up even once.

Beth - and possibly everyone else in the room - can pinpoint the moment Benny notices he’s going to lose. He swallows, takes off his cowboy hat, places it on the table and sniffs loudly.

“I resign,” He says, king falling along with his words.

His lips press into a fine line. He wasn’t expecting to lose. Yet, when Beth extends her hand, he nods his head and takes it. Shakes it once. His grasp is firm and warm and Beth wants to come closer and say _I’m sorry I’m sorry please let’s try again this time without chess without Russia hanging over our heads just us sober and real._

“Congratulations, Harmon,” He adds, slowly letting go of her hand.

She bites her lip, looks into his eyes. She barely even notices the camera flashes and the applause and the cheering all around her.

Right now, it’s only Beth and Benny. And it’s time to do things right.

“Thank you, Watts,” She says with a smile, then, “Would you let me buy you dinner tonight? We could discuss the game.”

Benny seems taken aback. Sucks on a breath. Looks around and then back at her. Gives a tentative smile of his own.

“Sure.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attacks.

The hotel at night is lively, there are lights and laughter and smoke everywhere. Blinding reds and yellows illuminate her path as she walks past an open door leading to a wide hall with a stage on front and round tables scattered around. A sweet melody reaches her ears and Beth catches a glimpse of a petite woman with a bright smile and a golden dress, she’s dancing and singing into a microphone. 

Beth stops and just stares until someone clears their throat beside her. She tears her eyes off the lady and, blushing, she moves aside so the couple can enter the hall and she keeps walking in the direction of the restaurant.

She finds Benny on a table by the back, his hat is nowhere to be seen and he’s wearing a black turtleneck sweater. His elbows are propped on the table, his right hand is nursing a glass with amber liquid inside. Only his profile can be seen from here, since he’s facing the giant windows, where Las Vegas at night paints a beautiful, movie-like picture. Beth pays little attention to the scenery and walks forward, sitting down in the other chair of the table for two.

“Hey.”

Benny turns around, smiling faintly, "Hey."

The waiter comes to their table, asks if he may take their order. _Chicken alfredo and a glass of water for the lady and another whisky on the rocks for the gentleman,_ repeats the waiter, then leaves.

Benny places his empty glass on the table, leans back onto his seat with a sigh, "I know why we're here."

"Really? And what is that?"

“Why did you win, Beth?” He asks, instead of aswering.

Beth frowns, “I… risked my queen on the-”

“No, no,” He waves the answer away, “I know _how_ you won. What I’m asking is why.”

Beth stares blankly, “I still don’t get it,” She says, even though she does, she understands perfectly well.

They’re interrupted by the waiter’s arrival. He places two glasses on the table, _would you like anything else? Not right now, thank you._ The table falls silent when he leaves to take someone else’s order.

After a moment, Benny bites his lip and cups his new glass with both hands.

“What I mean to say is… you are a teenager. Hey, no, don’t look at me like that, I’m not trying to be an asshole here, I’m just stating a fact. You are, what? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen.”

“Right, seventeen.” He looks down at his glass and smiles, picks it up and gives a long sip. Beth averts her eyes when they attempt to stray away to his Adam’s apple. “You are very young. And good, very good. The thing is, I’ve never seen anyone be _this_ good. You, Beth Harmon, have never lost a game, never even had a draw.”

“Is it really that hard to believe that a girl can beat you?” She mutters, some bitterness slipping into her words.

Benny laughs, and it doesn’t sound mocking, just surprised.

“You know that’s not it. It’s not the fact that you win everything, nor that you’re a girl. I’m not trying to look down on you. I’m just… amazed. You never make any mistakes.”

He leans forward on the table, placing his palms down on the dark wood.

“I’ve reviewed _all_ your games. Before coming here, I studied every single move you’ve ever made since you started playing. There has been not _one_ oversight. Not a single one. No one learning can do that. I mean, sure, the great, Luchenko, Borgov… They have experience on their side, they are men who have fucked up time and time again, enough to know how to avoid those errors. So, why would a thirteen year old girl play like the best when she’s barely starting?”

Beth takes a deep breath. Benny is right. She is good, too good, perhaps. Someone was meant to notice at some point, and she’s not even surprised that it was Benny. But she can’t tell him that it’s because she’s already played almost every opponent before. And, all the mistakes she was supposed to make as a beginner? She’s already made them, cried and obsessed about them during endless nights. But it’s not like she can explain to Benny that it’s because she’s already lived this - or, at least a version of it - before.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Beth says to Benny’s shoulder.

The other exhales, looks out the window, scratches his moustache.

“Honestly? I don’t know either.”

“I didn’t come here to have my abilities questioned,” She says after a moment.

Benny looks back at her, shocked, putting his hands up in defense, “Hey, I wasn’t questioning them. I know you’re great, much better than me…”

He stops talking and looks at some point behind Beth. She turns to look and finds the waiter bringing her chicken.

“Chicken alfredo for the lady, will you be needing anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Once the waiter is gone again, Benny continues.

“I _do_ know why you invited me here.”

“You do?” She asks sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Benny doesn’t look like he’s planning on answering, so she just grabs her knife and her fork, starts cutting her chicken. She’s half-way into her meal, when Benny speaks again.

“Beth, have you kissed anyone before?”

The knife falls on the plate with a _clink_ . Beth swallows and opens her mouth to say _yes,_ then remembers that no, she hasn’t, at least not in this life. It’s always been something else in her mind, be it Alma’s addiction or chess. She presses her lips into a thin line.

Benny sighs, “Yeah, I thought so. You are seventeen, you said it yourself. Do you know how old I am? The answer is: too old. Though, even if you were my age right now, I would still say no.”

Beth frowns, “Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong. You are very beautiful, with the red hair, the baby deer eyes and the dresses. Plus, you are very clever and, from what I’ve seen on the interviews, very witty. I'm sure I could fall head over heels for you in a second if I let myself do so, really, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“But?” She prods.

The look he gives her makes Beth’s cheeks heat, “But you won this game, and it won’t be the last one. I know I won't be the US champion much longer, not with you in the picture. Beth Harmon, you’re going places. Hell, after today, it wouldn’t even surprise me if you beat Borgov next.

“As cliché as it sounds, you have the whole world in front of you, and having a relationship with me doesn’t fit in the pictures magazines want to take. Plus, you don’t even know me. There’s a big chance that whatever feelings you have right now will fade or change.”

Beth licks her lips and gazes down at the half-eaten chicken. She’s kind of lost her appetite and it’s a shame, really, the chicken was delicious. Pushing her plate to the side, Beth props her chin on her palm, and asks,

“So, what then?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. You live. You play chess. You spend time with your family and your friends. Be a teenager. Go to parties. Meet people, kiss someone, date, break up, cry, I don’t know.” He sips on his whiskey again, “You just go ahead and do whatever you want, Beth.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be around. Probably go back to New York. Keep on playing. Maybe get a job, who knows.”

“And us?” Beth asks and her heart breaks a little when Benny answers with a sad smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I can give you my phone number. In case you need, I don’t know, tips about chess or something. Or if you’re ever in New York, we could meet, play some speed chess. Get to really each other.”

She remains silent, head inclined, eyes settled on her dismissed fork.

“Look,” Benny says, “I don’t really know you and you’re too young for us to try… anything, really. And the future- the future is a tossed coin. I can’t foresee its next move like I can do in chess. So, I can’t promise there will ever be an us. And if there is one, I can’t promise it will last. But that doesn’t mean anything. All we can do is wait and see.”

He is right, Beth knows. He can’t offer her more, to promise anything would be equal to lying. A maybe is the best they can have, at least right now. It’s not what she expected before coming here. Nonetheless, she can see now that there’s no other option. It’s the right thing to do, from Benny’s point of view.

“Thank you,” She says at last, “I think it’s best if I leave now, I don’t want to worry my mother,” She reaches for her napkin and absently wipes her hands, then takes her purse to rummage through it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover the check,” Benny says.

She looks up, tilting her head, “You sure?”

He nods, “I just wasted your time and accidentally insulted you. I think it’s the least I can do.”

Smiling, she puts her purse back in the bag and stands up.

“Thank you, have a good night.”

“You too, Beth.”

She turns to leave, but stops walking when she remembers something, her back still to Benny.

“Oh, and Benny?”

“Yeah?”

She flashes him a smirk over her shoulder, “You should consider losing the mustache.”

Beth walks away to the sound of Benny’s disbelieving laughter.

\--

One afternoon, after coming back from school, she gets a call. It’s Jolene, she tells her about a party to celebrate that finals are over, and asks her to come along. When Beth mentions it over dinner, Alma’s eyes go wide and a toothy smile lights up her face. She readily agrees, saying something about Beth needing to go out more and meet people who aren’t chess nerds, _“No offense to your friends, of course. Townes and the twins are lovely people, but perhaps it’s time to try new things?”_

Rolling her eyes, Beth pretends to be annoyed by being called a nerd, at least by proxy, though Alma vehemently denies it, telling her that she’s way too pretty to be a nerd.

Alma takes out some money from their savings despite Beth’s refusals and takes her to a nice - and rather expensive - boutique they love. After hours of dancing around, trying out pretty dresses and skirts, Beth stands in front of a full-body mirror, wearing a red dress with a sweetheart neckline and Alma practically squeals with excitement. 

They take the dress and Alma’s never ending smile is contagious. 

That night, Beth gasps when she remembers that, technically, this is the first time going to an actual party. Of course, she’s received plenty of invitations at school since she became sort of famous, and she’s gone to reunions with his “chess gang”, like Alma teasingly calls them. Regardless, she has never accepted the invitations from her classmates, nor gone anywhere with the intention of meeting new people.

She gets ready for the party at Jolene’s dorm and they walk together, with locked arms.

Inside the big house, there is music booming through speakers and lots of laughter, everything is hazy within the dense smoke wafting through the lit cigarettes and pipes.

As soon as the door closes behind them, there’s a redhead beckoning them over, waving a hand holding a beer. She’s sitting on a circle of chairs, with people wearing either tweed or leather jackets discussing something. When they are within earshot, Beth catches enough snippets of the conversation to know that they’re talking about the Founding Fathers being slaveholders. Ah, so they’re the history majors. Several people turn their heads and their eyes light up when they see Jolene. They welcome her and introduce themselves to Beth. After the customary pleasantries are exchanged, Beth stays a little bit back, not knowing where to go from there with these people.

Beth often forgets that she’s not a very sociable person, that is, until she’s _actually_ trying to be sociable. Jolene, on the other hand, seems to not have forgotten, since she quickly shepherds her away from the crowd of smiles and awkward _so, what’s your major,_ and into a less crammed corner.

When they stop walking, Jolene pushes an uncapped Corona that she got from God knows where into her hands. Just like that, everything disappears and Beth sees herself falling into the ground and almost cracking her head open on the corner of a table, Mariska Veres’s sultry voice singing, undisturbed, on the TV. She can’t breathe and her head is getting lighter by lack of oxygen, when a person bumps into her and she drops the bottle to the ground, spilling the clear liquid on the floor. No one seems unfazed by this - it’s a party, everyone’s too drunk or too high to care. They just sidestep it and keep on dancing.

“I’m so sorry!” A weak voice calls behind her, barely discernible with the loud music and talk around them.

Brought back to the present, Beth shakes herself. “It’s okay, I wasn’t going to drink it anyway,” She reassures, turning around.

She finds a petite blonde girl with a blue sailor theme mini dress, a white headband with blue anchors printed on it and white heels. She’s all kohl-rimmed eyes, high cheekbones and blood-red lips. A true beauty that makes Beth’s breath catch when their gazes meet.

“Well, at least let me get you something else, what do ya feel like?” The girl asks kindly and Beth averts her eyes.

Giving a dismissing wave, she says, “It’s fine, I’ll just go get some water from the kitchen.”

The girl purses her lips and grabs her hand.

“All right, come on, at least let me take you there.”

Her eyes widen at the sudden contact, though she just shrugs it off and lets herself be led across the living room filled with a dancing and drinking and flirting crowd. Craning her head, she finds Jolene sending her a look and she just mouths _”kitchen”,_ turning back when the other nods.

Silence settles inside the wide kitchen once the door is closed behind them and Beth sighs. The girl goes to the fridge and looks over her shoulder, nodding toward a cabinet.

“You can grab a glass from there, there’s water here,” She says, closing the fridge’s door after taking a can of beer.

“Thanks,” Beth says, then takes a glass and pours herself some water from the fridge’s dispenser.

The girl props a hip on the kitchen counter and Beth settles beside her, imitating her pose.

“You gotta name?” The girl asks.

“Yeah, it’s Beth. Beth Harmon.”

“Nice to meet you, Beth Harmon. I’m Carolina Spektor. Carolina, like the states, yes,” She says and extends a hand for Beth to shake. The gesture is so odd and out of place, since they’re at a frat party surrounded by smoke and shirtless college students, and the absurdity of it makes Beth chuckle. Carolina grins as she lets her hand go, “So, what do you study?”

“I’m still in high school, I’m a senior.”

Carolina places a hand to her cheek, “Really? No wonder you look so small.” 

Beth quirks up an eyebrow, pointedly looking at the girl’s petite frame and the other laughs.

“Okay, yeah, you got me there! In my defense, I’m a freshman.”

“Really? What’s your undergrad?”

“Math.”

That catches Beth off guard. Not many girls decide to go to college, and it’s even fewer the ones who choose something so logical, “You must be very smart.”

Carolina gives her a half-smile. “What can I say, ain’t just a pretty face,” She winks, “And you? Planning on going to college?”

Beth swirls the water on her glass, “I don’t know.”

“So, you ain’t got plans?”

“I have plans.”

Carolina lifts a curious brow, “Really? What are they?”

“I’m going to become the next US chess champion and then I’ll go to Russia and beat them as well,” The words might seem overconfident, yet Beth utters them with certainty.

“Well, shit, girl. You got it all figured out,” She says, raising her beer between them. 

Beth smiles and clinks her own glass against her bottle, “I guess.”

Carolina takes a long swig, “And what then?”

Choking a little on her drink, she coughs faintly, and asks, “Excuse me?”

“I mean, once you do that, what will you do?” 

_Well, isn’t that a good question,_ thinks Beth, and takes another, absent sip of her water.

“I don’t know,” She answers truthfully.

There’s a faint creak of the table as Carolina rests her forearms on it, she gives half a shrug and another half-smile. She seems to do a lot of things by halves, “That’s okay. You don’t gotta know shit yet, you’re young! Hey, I love that song, come on, let’s dance!” She shouts, grabbing her arm again and pulling her to the dance floor.

Hours pass and Beth doesn’t even consider taking a sip of alcohol nor a puff of the joints people keep passing around. She’s too distracted dancing and twirling and laughing around with Carolina, who seems to be having fun as well, since she long since joined her on drinking just plain water.

At some point, everything becomes too stuffy and Beth leans into Carolina’s ear to say that she needs air. Taking a hold of her hand, Carolina leads her outside, through the crowd and out the door, into the crisp midnight air. There are some people sitting around the grass in small groups, some of them are chatting, others seem to be completely knocked out by the empty beer cans littering the ground.

They walk to the curb, and sit down, close enough for their thighs to touch, not letting go of each other’s hands even after they’re settled.

“I’m bisexual,” Carolina states suddenly, over the loud chanting coming from inside the house.

“What’s that?” Beth asks, knitting her brow.

“It’s a, uh, sexual preference. Basically, it means that I’m both attracted to men and women.”

The sounds of men shouting _chug, chug, chug,_ remain in the periphery of Beth’s mind as she clings to the new term. Spins it around her mind.

“Hmm,” She nods, “I guess I’m bisexual too, then.”

Carolina’s tongue peeks out of her mouth, licks the seams of her own lips. Beth tracks the action, momentarily picturing what it would be to lick those lips herself. She feels a squeeze on her hand and Beth blinks up, to meet Carolina’s eyes. They’re hooded, settled on her own mouth, which goes dry at the attention. 

“So…” Carolina whispers, and it’s so close that Beth can taste the words, feel the breath that carries them, “Can I kiss you? Or have I been reading this wrong?”

Instead of answering, Beth loops her arms around the other girl, pushing her closer, and presses their lips together. Carolina happily goes along and sighs into her mouth, light as the wind blows. Beth savors the mingling tastes of alcohol, cigarette and strawberry lipstick. There’s skin, soft and flushed, warm under her fingertips as she cradles Carolina’s neck, traces circles onto her arm. It doesn’t go further than a couple of soft kisses, but Beth feels elated and giddy when Jolene finds them later on, both with lipstick smeared over their faces and pale skin tainted red with their matching blushes. 

A few hours after, sitting cross legged on one of the bumpy old bean bags of Jolene’s dorm room, she smiles widely and says,

“It has a name.”

Jolene’s hands halt from where she was taking off the braids someone made for her at the party and knits her brow, “The fuck you talking about, girl? What has a name?”

“Liking boys and girls,” She explains, “It has a name. It’s called bisexuality.”

“Really? Huh. Did that girl tell you?”

“Yes. Carolina is bisexual as well,” Beth laughs, shaking her head, “It’s odd, but it feels nice, knowing it has a name, I mean. Makes it more real.”

“Mm… I’m happy for you, kid,” Jolene says with a smile, “Are you gonna see her again?”

Rubbing her eyes, Beth sighs tiredly and replies, “I don’t think so. It was more of a one-time thing,” She twirls her hair and smirks at Jolene, “Now, _you_ tell me, how are things going with Mike?”

The dim lightning of the room almost manages to hide Jolene’s blush, but Beth is an expert at reading her sis.

“All good, all good. The guy invited me to his home this summer. Might go spend a week or two.”

“Already meeting the in-laws?” Beth asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

Jolene throws her a pillow and Beth dodges it easily. She lived with Jolene enough time to refine her reflexes.

“Don’t! We ain’t even dating.”

A scowl twists Beth’s face, “Huh, that’s true, why aren’t you dating? You’ve danced around each other for ages and he’s crazy about you.”

“I just,” Jolene shrugs one of her shoulders, “I don’t want a relationship to distract me. Got enough juggling college and work. Can barely go to parties, can you imagine trying to add a boyfriend to the shitshow that is my life right now?”

Beth hums and nods, “Yeah, makes sense,” A devilish grin appears on her face and Jolene squints in suspicion, “But when you two get together eventually, I demand to be your maid of honor.”

Jolene’s eyes widen and she grabs another pillow from the bed behind her, “Fuck off, Beth!”

Minutes later, they are shushed by an annoyed neighbor and Beth tries to stifle her laughter on the pillow Jolene tried to smother her with.

\--

It’s graduation time and Alma cheers for her again. Jolene couldn’t join because she has a job interview, she sent Mr. Shaibel in her stead. The man, surprisingly, claps just as loudly and even yells “That’s our girl!”. Beth might be the one receiving the least cheering, but it’s enough.

\--

Beth goes one evening shopping and buys the most beautiful and expensive chess set she can find.

She mails it along with a ten dollar bill and a card that says, “Happy birthday, Mr. Shaibel, I said I’d pay you back. Love, Beth.”

\--

As the Mexico tournament approaches, breathing becomes harder and nightmares plague Beth’s sleep, growing steadily scarier and harder to wake up from. She throws herself to her studies, which makes Alma side-eye her with worry every time she catches her reading algebra books while she watches TV. Pretending not to notice, she just keeps turning pages.

In an attempt to find a clutch during the trip, Beth sends invites to Jolene and Mr. Shaibel. Promises to pay for their trip, since she’s been saving quite a bit of money since she started competing. With apologies and good wishes in the form of _“you better beat their asses and tell me all about it when we meet”,_ Jolene tells her that she can’t because she has to work and can’t miss any days being so new. For his part, Mr. Shaibel just said that he was getting too old to travel such long distances, but told her to have fun, win and take some nice pictures. That last comment gives Beth an idea.

One day, after school, she takes the phone and calls, closing her eyes and crossing her fingers, hoping for him to answer. It takes three rings before the call connects and after they exchange pleasantries, she pops the question.

“Townes, so… I was wondering if you could give me some advice…”

“Chess advice? I don’t know if I could really help you with that, Harmon-”

“No, not about chess. About cameras.”

“Cameras? You’ve decided to give photography a shot? Haha.”

Beth groans into the phone, “Never make photography puns ever again. Or I’ll stop talking to you. But no, it’s not for me. I want it so Alma can take pictures in Mexico, Mr. Shaibel asked for some.”

“Mm…” There’s some ruffling on the line, it sounds like paper unfolding, “Will you be home this next week?”

“Um, yeah, there are no tournaments near and Alma accepted a few performances this week at a bar, why?”

“Cool, I told you I’m taking a two-week vacation, so we’re going shopping this weekend.”

“Wait, you’re coming? To Lexington?”

“If I’m welcome?”

“Of course! Alma’s gonna be so excited! Are you bringing your boyfriend?”

“Uh, no… we-we are taking a break,” He mutters.

The conversation becomes stilted after that and, soon, Beth makes a feeble excuse to hang up, though not without the promise of a visit in the next few days.

Townes ends up spending the whole week before they’re set to leave for Mexico. In the mornings, he makes her breakfast, _to pay for my stay, of course,_ he says and winks, when Alma tries to take a pan from him. With an eye roll and a faint blush on her cheeks, Alma relents and gives him back the pan.

Beth is pretty sure that Alma would have made a move on Townes ages ago if she thought she had a chance. She can’t really blame her. Probably everyone who’s come to contact with Townes has harbored at least a little bit of a crush on the man once. How could you not with that sly grin and alluring laugh. And the eyebrows, of course. How could she forget the eyebrows.

True to his promise, Townes wakes up on Saturday morning to make some protein-filled pancakes with eggs, _you’ll need all the energy you can get for today’s mission,_ he sings-songs, placing the plates in front of them on the table. Later, Beth finds herself thanking him silently for the big breakfast. They’ve spent about two hours hunting for a good camera and her feet ache from all the walking around behind Townes. Oddly enough, she’s not bored. It’s pretty entertaining to watch Townes charm his way with all the employees in every store, shoot questions as fast as bullets about metering, shutting speed and exposure. It all flies over her head, of course. It’s still nice to see the man in his element.

They end up with a small, instant camera with specifications that Beth doesn’t really understand, then head off to have lunch at a small café nearby.

After sharing paninis and lemonade, they go to a park so Townes can show Alma how to use their new camera. Beth spends all the evening posing as their model and, by the time the sun falls completely, her cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

\--

On the flight to Mexico, Beth panics.

One minute she’s fine, and the next, she’s gasping for air. Her head feels heavy and everything around her becomes _too much,_ black spots fill her vision and she can’t breathe. A hand settles on hers and she looks at Alma. _She’s here, she’s alive,_ Beth tells herself. 

Alma’s talking, probably asking what’s wrong, but Beth can’t hear her. She can only focus on her lips moving, on the hand she’s holding onto. Her flesh is warm and pulsing with life, because Alma is alive and breathing and, in a few more erratic beats, Beth is too.

“Has this happened before?” Alma asks, when Beth manages to calm down.

“No, this is the first time,” She answers shakily and reaches for the glass again, takes a long sip to gain time, looking out the window. There is a flow of birds flying by beneath them, half-hidden by the clouds; it’s like a shadow play is going on in the sky.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighs, her eyelids fluttering close.

“I don’t want to lose you,” She whispers, startling even herself. She didn’t mean to say the truth. And, given by the way she tenses beside her, Alma wasn’t expecting it either.

“You won’t lose me,” Alma says after a moment. The certainty with which she says it would definitely quell every fear Beth has, had she not watched men from the Mexican police and forensics move her body from a hotel room once.

Beth shakes her head, letting his eyes reopen and smiling sadly, “You don’t know that.”

“Is this about your parents?”

“What? No… why would you think so?”

“Because you never talk about them,” She replies, reaching for her glass to take a sip.

“There’s not much to say,” Beth lies through her teeth, avoiding her gaze again and feeling her shoulders tense. There’s a reason she doesn’t talk about them, not in her previous life, not in this one. It’s the past. No need to dwell on what you can’t change, especially when there’s so much she can do about other stuff.

Alma taps her hand. Beth turns around, one eyebrow raised in question, she finds her smiling.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk to me about it. It’s your life, after all. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here. And if you don’t want to talk about it with me, I could always arrange an appointment with doctor Johnson.”

“Thank you… I’ll think about it.”

Giving two light pats to the back of her hand, Alma lets go and rests her head back on the seat, closing her eyes to take a nap.

\--

Beth didn’t actually mean it when she said she would think about it. Now, she can’t stop thinking about it. Pictures of both her mothers dying mingle in her mind and she suddenly aches for a way to make her mind stop. She finds herself wishing for a drink or a pill, but the moment she remembers the taste she feels sick to her stomach. She has a fitful sleep filled with nightmarish images.

By the time they arrive in Mexico, Beth is tired to the bone.

They are picked up by Manuel and, just like the last time, Alma is over the moon. She looks at him with hearts in her eyes and Beth is both happy and terrified.

\--

The first evening, at the hotel, a hand appears on Beth’s field of vision. An AA recovery lapel pin that she left on the dressing table while Alma showered is placed on B7, “He knows I don’t drink.”

“It’s Mexico,” Beth answers without taking her eyes off the chess board. She moves a knight to B6, forcing Alma to take back her hand, “There’s a lot of tequila and a handsome man who likes you. That’s a dangerous combination.”

She lifts her gaze when Alma takes a pawn from her.

“I’m not going to drink. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry.”

Alma snorts, “I think that’s my line. You are seventeen, all you have to do is be a teenager, study and play chess, nothing else,” She cups her cheek with a cold palm and Beth presses her face closer to her hand, “I know you worry. But I’ll be fine. I’ve been dry for so long, I won’t give that up just to have fun one night. And you said it yourself. I’m going out with a handsome man who likes me, I don’t need alcohol to have fun,” She finishes with a wink.

Beth grimaces and softly pushes her hand away, “I didn’t need that image in my mind, thank you very much.”

\--

Bellas Artes is beautiful, Beth learns; and so is Chapultepec park. Tortas are delicious, the meat is juicy and the bread is warm. Tacos here aren’t crunchy, rather soft, and the flavor is truly indescribable - the pastor makes her feel like crying. And everything is so cheap too! She drinks raspados with mango and chamoy, which are colorful, sweet and unexpectedly spicy. Alma, of course, uses her new camera and takes about a million pictures in every outing.

Whenever Beth’s heartbeat starts racing and her breath quickens, she glances back at Alma, reaching out to touch her hand, her sleeve, the bag she’s carrying, anything to make sure she’s there. Alma, bless her heart, just allows herself to be prodded and poked, even connecting their arms from time to time unprompted.

For his part, Manuel is just as sleazy as Beth expected, though he is also pretty funny and takes them everywhere, paying for everything they want. He’s pampering Alma, making her smile and laugh so much that Beth bregrudegly admits that she doesn’t hate the man. The morning before the tournament begins, it’s raining heavily and Alma wants to go to the zoo. Beth takes her raincoat and brings the twins along.

“Aren’t you afraid of Borgov?” Matt asks, staring back at a _coralillo_ snake, according to the little white card on the corner, through a viewing glass. Beth examines the snake, it’s thin and long, with brilliant black, yellow and red rings all over its body in a pattern. It’s mesmerizing to see.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been afraid of anything chess-related. There are scarier things,” She says, subtly looking around. She finds Alma pointing excitedly at a python and Beth turns again to look at Matt.

“Loving the self-confidence, Beth.” He says with a real smile, “If anyone can beat him, then it’s you.”

Later, when they come across Borgov and his family in the simians area, she doesn’t even have the chance to spare him a glance. She’s too busy listening to a story Manuel is telling about him getting lost in this same zoo when he was a child, while it rained just as heavily as today.

\--

The matches start and Alma goes to all of them, even though Beth didn’t ask her to. She must be feeling her anxiety and Beth is incredibly thankful - she doesn’t think she could play without Alma there. 

Again, she wins everything and plays against Georgi Girev. She wins earlier than the last time, having much more practice and knowledge. The kid asks her about watching movies from cars and Alma pipes in saying she’ll take them to one. Beth bites her lip and agrees with a sigh, trying to keep her distance from the child. Luckily, his big, gray eyes are glassy and engrossed on the film, while he distractedly munches on popcorn.

When they come back, Alma plays in front of a small crowd with her eyes closed and the corner of her lips lifted. She looks peaceful and quiet, and Beth wants to see her like this forever. She claps the loudest when the last lingering note fades and Alma opens her eyes.

“The crowd loves you even in Mexico.”

Alma grins and plays another tune.

They go to their room to have a peaceful dinner the night before her match with Borgov. Well, Alma has dinner, while Beth only plays on the chessboard against herself, repeating her first game against Borgov and remembering all her mistakes. At night, she crawls to Alma’s bed and sleeps beside her. She has never done so before, but Alma doesn’t comment and just shifts so they both fit better.

\--

Black suit, shiny black shoes, and face impassive, Borgov sits with his eyes set on the board. He looks unmovable. Unbeatable. Beth knows he is not. She sits in front of him as the director calls “Play will begin in three minutes!” and Alma takes a seat just on her periphery, Beth has to turn her head just so to see her and that allows her to focus.

Three minutes pass and she started Borgov’s clock. Beth loses herself to the game - the room becomes only herself, the board and Borgov. The man looks as unfazed as ever, not over-confident, but aware of his capacity. Beth also knows exactly what he’s capable of, how good he truly is. He doesn’t count on her being better. For chess to be like breathing to her, to be as natural as being alive. He doesn’t count on losing less than two hours later.

The words “I resign” leave Borgov’s mouth and Alma stands to whoop and whistle, getting odd looks from everyone around her, and she doesn’t really give a damn.

Borgov stares at Beth like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to figure out and she offers him her hand. He takes it and shakes it, not taking his gaze off hers.

“Congratulations,” He says, wonder spilling from his mouth and eyes.

She thanks him and runs to hug Alma.

\--

Harry doesn’t appear on her doorstep. Instead, Alma plans a big “surprise” party Beth’s well aware of and invites all her friends. _To celebrate your win against that scary Russian man,_ she says, _though it didn’t fit on the sign, so I only wrote ‘congrats’._ They have a cake fight that ends up on Mr. Shaibel getting a handful of cake stuck to his mustache and sending them all a deadpan look, right before throwing another piece that flies straight toward Townes’ face. 

At around 1 a.m., Beth catches Jolene and Mike kissing outside the bathroom and she silently walks away with a shit-eating grin.

\--

“I want to go,” Beth says to her chessboard. He’s been rolling the thought around her mind. Considering it as she plays and plays, repeating complicated games she knows by heart. After weeks, she’s come to a conclusion.

“Where?” Alma asks, moving back the table to its place after vacuuming the floor beneath it.

“To therapy.”

The vacuum falls off her hand and Alma whips around to look at her incredulously. “Really?”

She nods, pushes a king down.

\--

Therapy sucks. Beth hates it. Despises having to talk about her parents, her unstable mother who loved her but couldn’t take care of her, no matter how much she tried. About her father, who followed them around, though never actually tried to do anything substantial, and once he was given the chance, turned his back on her own daughter. She detests opening up old wounds, finding out that they never healed; just remained hidden beneath pills, alcohol, black and white squares and designer clothes. Thinking about the sea triggers panic attacks in one session; in another, she talks about her secret aversion to cars, uncovers the reason she refuses to learn how to drive. She talks about her past life and this one like they’re one and spills her guts about everything she’s been keeping to herself for two lives.

Every appointment is awful, terrible, makes her skin crawl. She wants to give up every Tuesday and Friday morning, before it’s time to go - she never does.

Beth hates therapy. In spite of that, she keeps going, arriving early to each appointment, following the little tasks her therapist sets for her.

Beth hates therapy. But she can’t deny that it helps.

\--

“Your mustache is gone,” She says instead of hello when she finds Benny, sans hat, sans mustache. He looks younger and Beth’s heart does a flip.

“I guess it wasn’t too popular with the ladies,” He says. 

“Ah, so he cares.”

He smiles and shakes his head. A strand of golden hair falls to his eyes and Beth realizes it’s longer; long enough for a short ponytail.

“I like your hair,” She says and bites her lip.

He touches it absentmindedly, “Someone said it might look good longer. Wasn’t sure but decided to give it a shot. Cleo is a model, after all. She must know a thing or two.”

Beth’s eyes widen at the mention of the French girl and she hums, “She was right. It suits you.”

“How’s your mother? Did she come?” He changes the subject, looking away.

“Yeah, she wanted to rest. She had a gig at a bar two nights ago and hasn’t slept very well.”

He frowns, “A gig?”

“She plays the piano.”

“Ah. So talented. Mother and daughter.”

Beth ducks her head and excuses herself to go check on Alma.

At night, Beth walks leisurely. She goes to the dining hall and finds Benny and the other boys. They invite her to play speed chess and she pretends not to know what that is. She loses her first two games against Benny, then the bet goes up. 

“Are you sure you want to lose ten dollars?” Benny asks.

Beth smiles innocently and starts his clock instead of answering.

“You played us!” One of the boys cries after she collects another ten dollars, placing them on her stack with six more bills.

“You invited me to play,” She replies evenly. 

Benny laughs and pushes the chessboard away from his side of the table. “You win, Beth. You win.”

\--

Benny winces, “Oops, I resign.”

Letting out a laugh, Beth shakes his hand. Benny did make a terrible mistake there. If they were as close as they once were, they would spend all night discussing it. This time, he just says he has to leave this same night for New York when she asks him if he wants to have dinner together.

“What about a goodbye kiss?” She asks, emboldened by her win.

Benny shifts closer, tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear and grazes his lips softly against her cheek, leaving a pink blush in his wake. He steps away and gives her a half-smile.

“Good luck in Paris, Beth.”

And then he’s gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: minor character death

Alma is crazy about Paris. They take French classes because Alma wanted to learn and Beth was too weak to say no, so she just sighed half-heartedly and agreed. Now, she drives them every Monday, Wednesday and Friday night to the local college. Oh, right, Beth got her license three weeks ago and bought a used ‘64 Peugeot 404. She can’t parallel park to save her life, but everything else she manages to do pretty decently - or at least decently enough for the man who signed her off to receive her license.

“Bonjour” soon replaces the good mornings Alma gives her every day as she walks down the stairs to start breakfast, and “merci” are the new thank you’s. Beth swears Alma looks ages younger and she couldn’t be more thankful with the universe for getting a chance to save her.

\--

The moment the Eiffel Tower appears on the horizon, Beth isn’t sure what shines brighter: the full moon in the sky, the city lights below or Alma’s smile as she leans over Beth’s seat to look out the small window. It’s a tough competition, that’s for sure.

\--

A dull  _ thump  _ from their luggage falling to the carpeted floor has barely been heard, when Alma takes ahold of Beth’s hand and drags her down the elevator, through the lobby and out glass doors that lead to the street. Taking a deep breath, the pungent smell of coffee, cigarettes and the bold floral fragrance of perfume invade their nostrils.

_ “Ah, the scent of Paris,”  _ Alma says in French, beaming.

_ “Pollution?” _ Beth asks sarcastically, smirking as Alma’s smile falls from her face.

“Let’s go get some crepes!”

With that, Beth is dragged _again,_ this time to a charming little restaurant just around the corner.

\--

Like a redhead puppy, Beth diligently follows Alma everywhere. Shopping, sightseeing, trying out restaurants. Even walking up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower. It’s hell and every night Beth must take painkillers and rub ointment onto her aching legs, but she’s having the time of her life.

\--

The night before she faces Borkov again, Beth goes down to a café down the block. It’s a quaint small bricked building, ladderback chairs covered by a tent. The illumination consists of the moon, the twinkling stars and the colorful Christmas lights hanging around the beams of the tent.

Destiny must have a good sense of humor, since she finds a familiar slim figure on a lone tall table for two when she searches around the room for a seat. There sits a beautiful woman on a pencil skirt nursing a pink cocktail, gathering looks from every single man in the room. She’s a flame and everyone around her are moths, drifting toward her before catching themselves, knowing they don’t stand a chance. Beth knows how well she can burn, yet her eyes are drawn to the woman instantly as well. Butterflies stomp in her stomach as she follows the bridge of her nose, the curve of her hunched shoulders and the carbon color hair snaking down her head, ending just above the tip of her ear.

Driven by inertia or her own hormones, Beth walks straight to her table.

Cleo lifts her head and a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, studies her curiously, peach colored mouth letting go of the straw.

“Bonsoir,” She says, putting down her glass on the table.

“Hello,” Beth breathes out in English.  _ Really, Beth? That's the best you could come up with? _

Cleo smiles and, probably taking pity on her, she asks, “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Uh, no… I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” She says faintly.

Green eyes brightened by the kohl study her, “Huh. You do seem familiar, maybe we’ve met before. What’s your name?”

“Beth Harmon.”

“Oh?” Cleo’s face lights up with recognition, “You are the chess girl?” She asks, and her thick French accent makes Beth’s fingertips tingle.

“You’ve heard about me?”

“Have I! Dear, I feel like I know everything about you. Benny Watts, you know him, right? He’s always talking about this amazing girl who's on her way to becoming a grandmaster. I’m so… happy to finally meet you,” She beckons for the waiter and asks Beth, “Come on, _assis toi!_ What are you having? I’ll pay, don’t worry.”

More than a little lost in the fact that Benny talked - no,  _ gushed  _ \- about her, Beth sits down absentmindedly, “A cappuccino is fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? Martinis here are great,” Cleo says, with a bat of her eyelashes. The sight brings Beth memories of a dark hotel room, laughter in her ear, kisses down her throat, struggling with the stuck zipper of a dress, falling heavily to a bed with a hot, soft body pinning hers. Swallowing, she says,

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

Cleo studies her for a few beats, then nods to the waiter.

“So, tell me about chess, Beth” Cleo asks and Beth complies.

They don’t sleep together that night, but Cleo does push a piece of paper, ripped from the bill, with her phone number and address to her hand and places a kiss to the corner of her mouth that feels like a promise for more if she ever wishes.

Carefully tucking the paper into her bag, she stands to leave the café.

\--

Beth arrives early to the match with Borgov, remaining unaffected as the reporters flash bulbs all around. He tilts his head and smiles faintly in her direction.

“Liza Harmon. Nice to meet you again,” He says, smiling.

She smiles back and sits.

Borgov doesn’t look shocked when he loses this time, just hands her his king with a grin and bows his head slightly in respect, pointing at her for people to take pictures of the winner.

\--

Mr. Shaibel is sick, a nurse says on the phone, just over the noise of the hospital rush. Beth had been expecting it, but the news isn’t any easier to digest just because she knew it was coming. She goes to visit and enters the room alone. Mr. Shaibel looks tired; he’s lost weight and color. Although he was never a very lively person, now he looks too close to a corpse for her liking.

She eyes the kind man who changed her life, lying, barely awake on the tiny hospital bed and decides that he deserves the truth.

“I’m from the future, well, a future. I- I’ve lived all this before. And I know, I know you probably won’t believe me, but-”

“I believe you,” Mr. Shaibel’s rough voice cuts her off.

She gapes and stares at the man’s pale and wrinkled face, the smile he gives her makes her flail, “Sorry,  _ what?” _

“You’ve always been special,” Mr. Shaibel replies, like it explains everything. Perhaps to him it does, even if Beth doesn’t understand.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

Mr. Shaibel lets out a faint laugh that becomes a coughing fit, he wheezes and his chest shakes. The sounds seem painful and Beth reacts by reaching for the glass of water on his side table. He takes it and drinks once the coughing recedes enough, then speaks, “You always seemed to know your way around life,” He hands the glass over to Beth again, “And chess. No ten year old can play like that.”

“You’re just jealous because I beat you,” She teases and Mr. Shaibel shakes his head fondly.

“I’m proud of you,” He whispers and Beth can’t hold back her tears anymore.

“Thank you,” She says, taking his cold hand. “And I’m sorry for not being here before.”

“You are here now.”

\--

The funeral is not as lonely, but Beth feels just as sad as the first time.

It’s a comfort, to know that she didn’t fail him this time, to not have the guilt weighing her down on the stool as she kneels to pray. Regardless of the knowledge that she didn’t abandon Mr. Shaibel this time, the loss can still be felt - how could it not? Beth just lost one of her first friends, the first person who believed in her.

Alma and Jolene hold sit by her sides and they hold both of her hands, offering their support, which Beth appreciates endlessly. She allows herself to cry. Lets her tears flow freely until she can’t cry anymore and all she has left are soft hiccups and a tear-stained face.

The twins are also there, and so is Townes. They heard about it through Jolene, Beth guesses, and they refused to leave them grieve alone.

In this life, she went to the priest beforehand. Told him about everything he did for her. About the friends Mr. Shaibel had. The kindness he kept hidden behind his quiet exterior.

After the funeral and the burial, they all go together to her home and drink hot chocolate. They watch old movies and try to teach Alma how to play chess. When Alma throws away a knight and says that chess is definitely not her thing, Beth manages a small smile.

\--

The door clicks close behind the twins. Beth and Alma are left alone once again. After squeezing her shoulder, her mother goes to the kitchen to boil some water for tea. Alma has taken to prepare tea instead of coffee, something her therapist recommended.

Dragging her feet, Beth slowly reaches the kitchen. She leans on the counter, folding her arms over it. Her eyes follow Alma’s movements as she sets the teapot on the stove.

“My mother killed herself,” She says to the silent kitchen and Alma grapples with the lavender tea leaves, almost dropping them.

Alma turns around, watching her with worried eyes.

“That day,” Beth’s voice is a whisper, yet it seems to resonate through every wall, “When I officially became an orphan... It wasn’t an accident. My mother crashed that car because she couldn’t take care of me anymore. And I- I think I was supposed to die as well.”

With a sigh and light steps, Alma rounds the counter and pulls her the warmth of her embrace. Pushes her head down to her chest and soothes a hand down her head. Holds her like a child and Beth weeps like one.

They spend the whole night up, talking about those things they’ve never talked about. The birds outside have just started to sing, announcing a new day, when Alma tells her that she’s glad she got the chance to be her mother.

\--

The US government pays for Beth’s trip to Moscow. Apparently, winning over Borgov twice has gained her some recognition. Whoever decides who gets sponsored agreed that  _ yeah, sure, pay for the girl’s ticket, why not.  _ She goes to receive her financial aid at an event organized by the US Chess Federation. Beth forces herself to smile for the photos, swallowing the scoff that wishes to escape her throat and the muscles around his eyes ache to make them roll.  _ Hypocrites, all of them,  _ she tells a bewildered Alma later, and doesn’t explain the reason for her anger.

There’s a bright side: the extra money can be used to pay for Jolene’s law school.

\--

Before they’re due to leave, Jolene, the twins all call her to wish her luck. No one can visit, since they all have jobs, but promise to keep tabs on her.  _ You’ll kick the shit outta them all, _ Jolene says confidently when she tells Beth that she’s organizing a listening party with the others for the final match. They’re all sure she’ll get to the final.

Townes says he’ll wait to wish her luck in Russia, since he’s going to cover it for the Lexington Herald-Leader.  _ Ah, my favorite distraction is coming to Russia. Alma’s going to be so happy, _ Beth smiles at the phone.

It’s almost midnight when the phone rings again.

“Should I even ask how you got my number?” She asks to the receiver.

“I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

“Good luck, Beth.” Benny says softly.

“Thanks, Benny.”

\--

Alma says she doesn’t like Moscow; she prefers Paris, because it’s much livelier and less bleak. Also, she’s mad because they aren’t allowed to do anything,  _ Really, this place doesn’t sound much better than a prison. _ Booth side-eyes her, lifts his flask in silent cheers, then drinks to Alma’s words.

Beth snorts softly and keeps looking out the window of the car.

\--

Beth had forgotten how much she loves being called Liza by the Russians and gray skies as she walks through the cold streets covered with snow.

Every night, after winning her match, Beth leaves the venue alongside Alma and Booth. Her mother is living for the attention, posing for the pictures and even signing some autographs herself. Beth grins and lets her do whatever she pleases - it’s a gift to have Alma still by her side.

\--

Luchenkov’s walks, followed by applause. His shaggy hair bounces as he takes a seat and Beth watches him with her hands folded over her lap. She tries to be serious, however, the fondness in her chest can’t be suppressed. The memories of the last time they saw each other become fresh once again, softening the corners of her lips. Humbleness can’t be forgotten, nor the kind words he said to her.

Her win is swift, perfectly calculated. Not one unnecessary move, no time wasted.

“I’ve always admired you,” She admits once again. The excitement due to being in front of her idol doesn’t dull with exposure.

“You’re a wonder, my dear. I may have just played the best chess player of my life.” The words still cause her chills and she thanks him.

\--

The door on the last room down the corridor is open again. When Beth approaches, heads turn her way. Luchenkov smiles and beckons her over. They give her a seat and ask her if she wants to play. Beth readily agrees, starting against Luchenkov.

The coldness she recalls from that other life is gone; the shadow of distrust over Borkov’s eyes has disappeared, replaced by the light of excitement. They aren’t playing to win. The only goal of these games is to have fun and Beth enjoys every second of it.

\--

The clock’s ticking stops and Beth is a champion again.

Borkov smiles with something that feels like relief and Beth mirrors it.

Townes and Alma run to her, hug her, congratulate her, cry with her.

It’s like everything in her life has fallen into place along with that black king.

\--

"What are you going to do now?" Booth asks, not really sounding like he cares.

"I have no idea," Beth answers happily.

Booth hums and starts talking about her meeting the president. As the familiar greenery of a park approaches, Beth makes a decision.

Ignoring Booth’s protests again, she leaves the car, joined by a confused but always willing to follow Alma.

The players look at her in awe, all of them standing up as they recognize her. She smiles and walks through the sea of old men to sit in front of the same lone man she found last time.

_ “Nice to see you again,” _ The man mutters in Russian.

She freezes half-way into her seat, stares at the man unblinkingly, thinking she must have misheard. Her mouth opens in surprise when her gaze meets a knowing smile under his mustache.

_ “I hope it was better this time,” _ He says, lifting an eyebrow in the direction of Alma, who is awkwardly nodding along to something another Russian man is saying, clearly not understanding a word, but not wanting to be rude.

She sucks in a breath, slides completely into the chair, and exhales the words,  _ “It was perfect.” _

His smile widens,  _ “Good.” _

Then, he lowers his eyes, hands coming up the table to put the pieces back on their squares.

_ “Let’s play.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic literally took control over itself  
> edit: there was going to be more benny/beth, but it just didn't seem /natural/ and i didn't want to force things, ya feel? wanted to let the fic be whatever it wanted to be
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!:D


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